


Sandover Gives Dean Too Much Work

by ComicBooksBro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - It's a Terrible Life (Supernatural), Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Cas could be endverse Cas or not. idk, Dean Winchester Has a Bad Day, M/M, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. (Supernatural), Tired Dean Winchester, Workaholic Dean Winchester, past abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Dean is tired and hungry, but he can't stop working. He's got shit to do and he needs to get it done before Cas--Cas is here.Fuck.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mentioned Alastair/Dean Winchester (Past)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67
Collections: Angst and Hurt/Comfort Prompts





	Sandover Gives Dean Too Much Work

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [angstandhcprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/angstandhcprompts) collection. 



> Okie Dokie friends here we go! I did a thing! :) I haven't written Dean Smith before, so this was fun!
> 
> Sorry (to any of you who care) I haven't been posting much lately. It's the holiday season and mental health is frickin' WILD. 
> 
> Right, fic. Let's go!

Dean Smith sighed and clicked over the same three spreadsheets he had been looking at for hours.

_What the Hell?_ Something in there was wrong—Dean was sure of it, but he couldn’t see what. The screen blurred in front of him, and Dean pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes in frustration. _God,_ he was so tired. Opening his burning eyes, Dean glanced at his watch: 9:27.

He should have been home hours ago. Normally, being home late wouldn’t have been an issue, but Cas was expecting him and—

Dean just didn’t want to lose his job. He had already been late twice (from pulling late nights the day before, and _that_ didn’t bode well considering his current circumstances, but tomorrow was Sunday and he could sleep in), and had used his the remainder of his meager sick days (a fucking poltergeist had broken his arm nearly in half and painkillers were _trippy)_ this month.

Yeah, America sucked when it came to sick days, but Sandover seemed harsher than most other companies, because apparently fuck Dean’s life. And maybe part of the reason Dean was to tired was due to the fact that Dean was sort of a workaholic, but--

There, rambling--off-track--again.

Spreadsheets.

_Focus._

Something clicked outside of Dean’s office and he tensed, his hand immediately flying to the iron poker he kept tucked under his desk. No one was supposed to be on this floor, not at this hour. The anxiety that had been prickling under Dean’s skin all day turned to needles. Something knocked on his door.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Cas,” came the slightly muffled reply.

_Fuck._ If Cas was here Dean really must have screwed up. He knew he wasn’t the best boyfriend, but he hadn’t thought he was bad enough that Cas would need to come drag him from his office.

_Cas isn’t Alistair,_ he reminded himself. _Cas is good. He wouldn’t hurt you because you worked too late._

The door clicked open, and revealed Cas: dressed in worn jeans and one of Dean’s faded band t-shirts with his own ridiculous trench coat layered on top of that. He waved somewhat shyly. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said weakly. “Sorry—I know I should have been home sooner, I just got...” he looked around at his office and made a sad little gesture at it. “...busy.” A sick sort of nervousness trickled into his mind, worse than before.

_Cas wouldn’t hurt you over something as stupid as this._

Cas fixed his eyes on a particularly large stack of papers and looked at them disappointedly. “It’s okay, I _'--wish that you could actually focus on the_ people _in your life sometimes, Dean. It’s really not that hard--'_ just wish Adler would let you have a few more days off. You broke your arm what, three days ago?” Cas looked disdainfully at another stack of files. “At this point sometimes I think he’s piling on extra work just to get you fired.”

“Um.” Dean says, rather eloquently. This wasn’t what he had been expecting, though he doesn’t know why he ever thought that anything bad was going to happen. Cas is great; he’s never said anything too bad or insulted Dean beyond obvious joking. But that still doesn’t stop Dean from overanalyzing every detail of a conversation and event before it even happens. Sometimes he thinks he never recovered from Alastair.

Scratch that--he knows it. Still, Cas is patient with him.

“Come on,” Cas beckoned him with a jerk of his head. His shaggy hair fell into his eyes and Dean absently thought about what it would take for Cas to get a haircut. “We’re getting dinner.”

Dean felt frozen. He needs to finish this spreadsheet. If he doesn’t he’ll lose his job and--

_“Dean."_ Cas’ voice was calm but insistent. “You’ve already done more than enough work for the _week--_ and I know you probably didn’t eat anything today.” Dean winced slightly in embarrassment. Cas was right (he almost always was). Cas rolled his eyes. “You’re getting into your head again, give yourself a break.” He walked around Dean’s desk and grabbed one of his hands. Dean stood and let Cas lead him out of the office.

It was cold and rainy as they stepped out of the office, but Dean ignored it and gave Cas a look as they walked up to his Continental. Cas looked at him with an equally flat stare that clearly said ‘ _fuck your Prius, we’re taking the pimpmobile.’_

So Dean climbed into the passenger’s side and awkwardly bucked himself in, one-armed, as Cas started the car. He looked out the window as they drove, trying to tamp down the sick heaviness in his chest that told him he had screwed up.

“Relax, Dean,” Cas murmured.

“‘M sorry,” Dean sighed. “I’m just...” _Tired. Should have gotten my work done and been home earlier. Shouldn’t have gotten my damn arm broken._ “Stressed.” Cas nodded and glanced over at Dean, slightly worried.

They rode in comfortable silence until they got home.

“I thought you said we were getting dinner?”

“I made dinner,” Cas replied, unlocking the door and stepping inside. He neatly slipped out of his coat and hung it up in one fluid motion, then continued to the kitchen. “Well, I tried.” He shrugged. “Burgers.”

Dean kicked his shoes off and throws his coat on the rack. He hadn’t had a burger in ages. “Really?”

“Well, more like I started, then came to get you.” Cas opened the refrigerator and started pulling out various ingredients. “I didn’t want them to get cold.”

Dean’s stomach growled as he watched Cas season a patty and throw it onto the skillet. The smell of cooking meat hit him and Dean realized just how much he hadn’t eaten in the past few days. The burgers can’t be done soon enough, and Dean was pleasantly surprised when Cas didn’t end up accidentally setting something on fire because he _knows_ Cas can’t cook for shit, but he still went through all the trouble of making the burgers and not burning them and--

It’s was nice, letting someone do something for him. And the burgers were actually _good,_ too, which surprised Dean even more. Cas had put a lot of work into this.

_Wait._ Dean mentally ran over a list of dates in his mind--had he forgotten an anniversary?

“No, Dean, you didn’t forget anything. I just wanted to do something nice.”

Sometimes Dean wondered if Cas was a mind-reader. “Thanks.”

A small smile crossed Cas’ face as he walked around the counter with his own burger and sat next to Dean. “Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated! 
> 
> <3


End file.
